Chastity Talk from a Rape Victim
There is more than enough banter online and in any number of Christian circles debating the ever-inflammatory topic of purity, sexuality, and chastity, that ever elusive rabbit everyone is so ready to define, and yet so few can actually describe without making their audience want to wretch from its clichéd and unfair analysis and definition.
But what about for those whose choice did not matter? Who didn't give into illustrious passions let off into the distance and painted in brilliantly forbidden colors of stark and poignant reality? What about those who wished they'd had the choice but didn't? Ready to condemn for falling into delicious passion, chastity talks and the discussion of the virtue of virginity and sexuality fall woefully short of that hazardous territory of sexual assault victims, of all ages, situations, both male and female.
She did not remember until her freshman year of college that it had even happened to her. Too small to understand its evil, her mind protected her from it, and only broke forth with it under the duress of a short film detailing the life of a girl living in an abusive household.
So she wept, nonstop for days. She slept in her best friend's room, unable to stand the thought of even being left alone for any period of time. She spoke with a therapist and a religious sister, sat weeping at the foot of Jesus in adoration, horrified at the reality that that which was hers alone to give could be so viciously torn from her, without her consent and, for so long, without her memory.
She learned to live with it. She learned to stop thinking to herself in dark periods of doubt and spiritual desolation that she was tainted goods. She cried herself to sleep thinking that the purity ring she wore held none of its former meaning, and yet she didn't have the heart to remove it.
She learned to heal, and to forgive. Days of hatred and longing for finality still crossed her mind, but thinking about Christ's flesh stripped bare from His back and the tears that fell down His blood-stained cheeks gave her solace, to know she was not alone in such bitter throes of agony and violation.
She found catharsis in film, and music, and literature, and she found a surprising healing balm in the quiet companionship and silence of prayer.
Reading Outlander by Diana Gabaldon, when the main character Jamie describes the state of his heart and soul after being repeatedly raped and violated, she wept hysterically at his poignant understanding:
" 'It's...difficult to explain. It's...it's like...I think it's as though everyone has a small place inside themselves, maybe, a private bit that they keep to themselves. It's like a little fortress, where the most private part of you lives--maybe it's your soul, maybe just that bit that makes you yourself and not anyone else.' ... 'You don't show that bit of yourself to anyone, usually, unless sometimes to someone that ye love greatly.' ... 'Now, it's like...like my own fortress has been blown up with gunpowder--there's nothing left of it but ashes and a smoking rooftree, and the little naked thing that lived there once is out in the open, squeaking and whimpering in fear, tryin' to hide itself under a blade of grass or a bit o' leaf, but...but not...makin' m-much of a job of it.' "
She tried to find solace in such discussions of chastity and purity, in the discussions of Theology of the Body, but found nothing in regards to rape. "Second virginity" was discussed in regards to those who found temporary pleasure and perhaps even love in the arms of the wrong person, but what about those who couldn't say that they'd pursued natural pleasure in the wrong direction? How can they be sorry for something they did not commit? Is the very act of violation because of a woman's anatomy spell condemnation for her?
"Oh, well it didn't really count."
The beauty of God in His reflection and image of unity in the unity of the marriage bed are discussed at length, and with good reason. It is fantastically, erotically, magnificently beautiful, the sexual relationship between man and woman, and how God chose that way to reflect the love of Christ and His Church. What on this earth could possibly be more beautiful than that?
But that one night when you were six, that didn't really count. That one night in the back of a car didn't count. That night behind a dumpster when you were unconscious didn't count. You can get your virginity back. Just ask for it.
Ummm, excuse me?
The state of virginity is brought to a nearly idolatrous level of perfection and state of grace. Bearing within your female body the hymen that defines you as pure is seen as a great sacrifice if preserved, and a sad loss if it must be sacrificed for the good of marriage and the propagation of the species. But if you're raped, what about then? Especially if you saw this as something worthy to be saved for that one special person?
And this thought is not just narrowed to Christian circles. Reading commentary of Tess of the d'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy, the subject of whether or not Tess is indeed a virgin after she is pinned to the ground by her cousin and thereafter conceives a child is still discussed to this day, in hot literary debate. Never mind that she declares more than once that she did not give consent; she must have done something to seduce him. It was her fault. Her disastrous marriage to Angel (a name most ironic considering his reaction to her lack of virginity) merely capitalizes this fact. He wasn't a virgin, but it was all in good taste. She wasn't a virgin, therefore she must be a whore. But if she gave her consent? That doesn't seem to matter here. A whore is a whore is a whore, I suppose.
So she sojourns on, barely able to function reading through Tess, and weeping as she reads the young woman's struggles to understand herself after what she has been told is her inherent identity has been stripped away.
A solace she looks for but has difficulty finding is a solace in the arms of the Virgin Mary.
As the Blessed Mother? She can lay in her lap and cry until her lungs are sore. As the Virgin Mary? It is difficult to even picture being in the same room. Truly the greatest woman to live, having borne our Savior, but what is the one attribute she is praised with almost more than any other? Virgin. Virgin Mother, one of the magnificent ways God likes to show off His truly impressive powers, and it is, no joke, absolutely incredible that He chose to do it that way. That can certainly be granted. But surely there were greater attributes to the Blessed Mother's life than the preservation of her physical state as a virgin? St. Augustine wrote that it was greater that Mary was obedient to God than that she was His mother, so surely it is greater that she was obedient than that she was a virgin. How would we address her if she was assaulted? If that virginal state was taken from her? Would that change any of our love or fealty for her as our mother? Would Christ have looked upon His mother any differently had she no longer been a virgin? Of course not. So we shouldn't either.
Should she be honored for her life, and her unfailing and unerring devotion to Christ as her Son and her Lord? Absolutely. But should her physical state of virginity be equated to that same level of importance as that of her faithfulness and her devotion and her love? No. It shouldn't be. And if it is, we need to fix it. Because a woman's hymen shouldn't matter more than her love for God.
And what about the women that stood so faithfully at the foot of Christ's cross? Were they virgins? They were faithful in blood and sweat and death, tearing their hearts out with their souls as they stood helpless and watched the Man they love die. But in this sanitized, sugar-coated Christianity we are wading through, must that not be discussed? Aren't their acts tarnished by their lack of purity or virginity? They followed Him from the moment of His utter defeat and butchery and even followed Him into His tomb, to clean Him for His long rest. But were they virgins? "Well, that doesn't matter." Then why does it matter elsewhere?
Countless examples of women in history who stood for purity are trotted out, as though those who have "lost" their purity, whether by consent or not, need to be reminded of what they no longer possess. St. Joan of Arc is one such example, but what if you found out that while she was imprisoned, she was threatened with rape by the guards under the charge of the corrupt French Bishop? How on earth do we know they didn't succeed? The answer is, we don't. And if she did lose her virginity under such circumstances, would it change how we looked at her? Should she be less revered for her bravery and courage and ignored for no longer being innocent? We all know the answer to that.
We cannot equate someone's value, to each other or before God, as having ANYTHING to do with sexuality, virginity, or purity. Christ not only mingled with whores and prostitutes and all manner of the wretch of society, He preferred their company even to that of the supposedly devout Pharisees. He gave His time, His attention, His tears to those who fell at His feet and begged for life beyond their sin, consensual or not.
But let's keep hammering into the ground the utter importance of chastity beyond any other virtues, to the point that those who gave themselves in a mistaken heat of passion in the arms of those they love, or in the violent manipulation of assault, equate the value of themselves before our Father as dependent on such a physical state of being. Never mind your hearts, never mind your souls, never mind your prayers and your interactions with those around you and with God. What lies between your legs suddenly has the grander voice than the rest of life that occupies the world.
God condescends to fall from Heaven into a Host held between our teeth, to be devoured and digested and become diffused with the lowest of creation, those who spat on Him and pierced Him through and through, but we do not trust His judgement in loving those beyond their state of virginity. Praise the Blessed Mother for her virginity above her devotion and her love for Christ. Praise the women who go to their marriage beds as virgins on their wedding night terrified because they waited but have utterly no idea what to expect because no one was brutally honest with them. Praise the women who tear themselves apart, destroy themselves internally and externally because what they longed to share with that one person was taken from them. Praise the men who were raped and don't speak of it because they are told that men aren't assaulted, and if they are, they shouldn't be talked about. Praise the chastity talks that equate a woman's virginity to the tearing of wrapping paper on a box and once it's gone, it's gone, and it's ruined if you give it away early, and where male virginity isn't even a topic that's addressed.
And then He enters, brushing the tear-drenched hair off your face, looking deep in your eyes and saying, "I make all things new." And then maybe, just for a second, you can believe that you are worth more than the entrance of one body into another. Maybe you are what you are when God enters you and whispers through a lover's embrace, "You are beautiful in every way, my friend, there is no flaw in you."
But what about for those whose choice did not matter? Who didn't give into illustrious passions let off into the distance and painted in brilliantly forbidden colors of stark and poignant reality? What about those who wished they'd had the choice but didn't? Ready to condemn for falling into delicious passion, chastity talks and the discussion of the virtue of virginity and sexuality fall woefully short of that hazardous territory of sexual assault victims, of all ages, situations, both male and female.
She did not remember until her freshman year of college that it had even happened to her. Too small to understand its evil, her mind protected her from it, and only broke forth with it under the duress of a short film detailing the life of a girl living in an abusive household.
So she wept, nonstop for days. She slept in her best friend's room, unable to stand the thought of even being left alone for any period of time. She spoke with a therapist and a religious sister, sat weeping at the foot of Jesus in adoration, horrified at the reality that that which was hers alone to give could be so viciously torn from her, without her consent and, for so long, without her memory.
She learned to live with it. She learned to stop thinking to herself in dark periods of doubt and spiritual desolation that she was tainted goods. She cried herself to sleep thinking that the purity ring she wore held none of its former meaning, and yet she didn't have the heart to remove it.
She learned to heal, and to forgive. Days of hatred and longing for finality still crossed her mind, but thinking about Christ's flesh stripped bare from His back and the tears that fell down His blood-stained cheeks gave her solace, to know she was not alone in such bitter throes of agony and violation.
She found catharsis in film, and music, and literature, and she found a surprising healing balm in the quiet companionship and silence of prayer.
Reading Outlander by Diana Gabaldon, when the main character Jamie describes the state of his heart and soul after being repeatedly raped and violated, she wept hysterically at his poignant understanding:
" 'It's...difficult to explain. It's...it's like...I think it's as though everyone has a small place inside themselves, maybe, a private bit that they keep to themselves. It's like a little fortress, where the most private part of you lives--maybe it's your soul, maybe just that bit that makes you yourself and not anyone else.' ... 'You don't show that bit of yourself to anyone, usually, unless sometimes to someone that ye love greatly.' ... 'Now, it's like...like my own fortress has been blown up with gunpowder--there's nothing left of it but ashes and a smoking rooftree, and the little naked thing that lived there once is out in the open, squeaking and whimpering in fear, tryin' to hide itself under a blade of grass or a bit o' leaf, but...but not...makin' m-much of a job of it.' "
She tried to find solace in such discussions of chastity and purity, in the discussions of Theology of the Body, but found nothing in regards to rape. "Second virginity" was discussed in regards to those who found temporary pleasure and perhaps even love in the arms of the wrong person, but what about those who couldn't say that they'd pursued natural pleasure in the wrong direction? How can they be sorry for something they did not commit? Is the very act of violation because of a woman's anatomy spell condemnation for her?
"Oh, well it didn't really count."
The beauty of God in His reflection and image of unity in the unity of the marriage bed are discussed at length, and with good reason. It is fantastically, erotically, magnificently beautiful, the sexual relationship between man and woman, and how God chose that way to reflect the love of Christ and His Church. What on this earth could possibly be more beautiful than that?
But that one night when you were six, that didn't really count. That one night in the back of a car didn't count. That night behind a dumpster when you were unconscious didn't count. You can get your virginity back. Just ask for it.
Ummm, excuse me?
The state of virginity is brought to a nearly idolatrous level of perfection and state of grace. Bearing within your female body the hymen that defines you as pure is seen as a great sacrifice if preserved, and a sad loss if it must be sacrificed for the good of marriage and the propagation of the species. But if you're raped, what about then? Especially if you saw this as something worthy to be saved for that one special person?
And this thought is not just narrowed to Christian circles. Reading commentary of Tess of the d'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy, the subject of whether or not Tess is indeed a virgin after she is pinned to the ground by her cousin and thereafter conceives a child is still discussed to this day, in hot literary debate. Never mind that she declares more than once that she did not give consent; she must have done something to seduce him. It was her fault. Her disastrous marriage to Angel (a name most ironic considering his reaction to her lack of virginity) merely capitalizes this fact. He wasn't a virgin, but it was all in good taste. She wasn't a virgin, therefore she must be a whore. But if she gave her consent? That doesn't seem to matter here. A whore is a whore is a whore, I suppose.
So she sojourns on, barely able to function reading through Tess, and weeping as she reads the young woman's struggles to understand herself after what she has been told is her inherent identity has been stripped away.
A solace she looks for but has difficulty finding is a solace in the arms of the Virgin Mary.
As the Blessed Mother? She can lay in her lap and cry until her lungs are sore. As the Virgin Mary? It is difficult to even picture being in the same room. Truly the greatest woman to live, having borne our Savior, but what is the one attribute she is praised with almost more than any other? Virgin. Virgin Mother, one of the magnificent ways God likes to show off His truly impressive powers, and it is, no joke, absolutely incredible that He chose to do it that way. That can certainly be granted. But surely there were greater attributes to the Blessed Mother's life than the preservation of her physical state as a virgin? St. Augustine wrote that it was greater that Mary was obedient to God than that she was His mother, so surely it is greater that she was obedient than that she was a virgin. How would we address her if she was assaulted? If that virginal state was taken from her? Would that change any of our love or fealty for her as our mother? Would Christ have looked upon His mother any differently had she no longer been a virgin? Of course not. So we shouldn't either.
Should she be honored for her life, and her unfailing and unerring devotion to Christ as her Son and her Lord? Absolutely. But should her physical state of virginity be equated to that same level of importance as that of her faithfulness and her devotion and her love? No. It shouldn't be. And if it is, we need to fix it. Because a woman's hymen shouldn't matter more than her love for God.
And what about the women that stood so faithfully at the foot of Christ's cross? Were they virgins? They were faithful in blood and sweat and death, tearing their hearts out with their souls as they stood helpless and watched the Man they love die. But in this sanitized, sugar-coated Christianity we are wading through, must that not be discussed? Aren't their acts tarnished by their lack of purity or virginity? They followed Him from the moment of His utter defeat and butchery and even followed Him into His tomb, to clean Him for His long rest. But were they virgins? "Well, that doesn't matter." Then why does it matter elsewhere?
Countless examples of women in history who stood for purity are trotted out, as though those who have "lost" their purity, whether by consent or not, need to be reminded of what they no longer possess. St. Joan of Arc is one such example, but what if you found out that while she was imprisoned, she was threatened with rape by the guards under the charge of the corrupt French Bishop? How on earth do we know they didn't succeed? The answer is, we don't. And if she did lose her virginity under such circumstances, would it change how we looked at her? Should she be less revered for her bravery and courage and ignored for no longer being innocent? We all know the answer to that.
We cannot equate someone's value, to each other or before God, as having ANYTHING to do with sexuality, virginity, or purity. Christ not only mingled with whores and prostitutes and all manner of the wretch of society, He preferred their company even to that of the supposedly devout Pharisees. He gave His time, His attention, His tears to those who fell at His feet and begged for life beyond their sin, consensual or not.
But let's keep hammering into the ground the utter importance of chastity beyond any other virtues, to the point that those who gave themselves in a mistaken heat of passion in the arms of those they love, or in the violent manipulation of assault, equate the value of themselves before our Father as dependent on such a physical state of being. Never mind your hearts, never mind your souls, never mind your prayers and your interactions with those around you and with God. What lies between your legs suddenly has the grander voice than the rest of life that occupies the world.
God condescends to fall from Heaven into a Host held between our teeth, to be devoured and digested and become diffused with the lowest of creation, those who spat on Him and pierced Him through and through, but we do not trust His judgement in loving those beyond their state of virginity. Praise the Blessed Mother for her virginity above her devotion and her love for Christ. Praise the women who go to their marriage beds as virgins on their wedding night terrified because they waited but have utterly no idea what to expect because no one was brutally honest with them. Praise the women who tear themselves apart, destroy themselves internally and externally because what they longed to share with that one person was taken from them. Praise the men who were raped and don't speak of it because they are told that men aren't assaulted, and if they are, they shouldn't be talked about. Praise the chastity talks that equate a woman's virginity to the tearing of wrapping paper on a box and once it's gone, it's gone, and it's ruined if you give it away early, and where male virginity isn't even a topic that's addressed.
And then He enters, brushing the tear-drenched hair off your face, looking deep in your eyes and saying, "I make all things new." And then maybe, just for a second, you can believe that you are worth more than the entrance of one body into another. Maybe you are what you are when God enters you and whispers through a lover's embrace, "You are beautiful in every way, my friend, there is no flaw in you."
Check out St. Agatha. https://www.catholic.org/saints/saint.php?saint_id=14
ReplyDeleteTo force her to change her mind, Quintianus had her imprisoned - in a brothel. Agatha never lost her confidence in God, even though she suffered a month of assaults and efforts to get her to abandon her vow to God and go against her virtue. Quintianus heard of her calm strength and ordered that she be brought before him once again. During her interrogation, she told him that to be a servant of Jesus Christ was her true freedom.